Ten Pages of Violet
by Hrlyqin
Summary: A Dearest Sidestory


**Ten Pages of Violet **

**A Dearest Sidestory by Hrlyqin **

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A slip of a girl.

Where did that phrase come from?

Was it meant to bring to mind the sensation of lace or satin resting against the thighs, being slid up by the fingers? Perhaps, did it mean slip as in accident...a mistake of a woman, so small and sweet but surely as deadly as the rest of them? He didn't know, and that was a rare occasion he made a note of. He'd research it later, or have his assistant do it. Personally, and he didn't know why, the phrase always reminded him of flowers. Thin delicate stems with their petals raised up to the sun, slips of flowers, slips of women.

A slip of a girl.

The hospital bed made her seem smaller, he supposed. The endless white of the sheets made her surely look younger, visions of the madonna wrapped in a white shawl. Asleep, she was indeed a tiny slip of a girl with good creamy milkmaid skin and a small rosebud of a mouth. Perfectly harmless. As he sat there, watching her drift in and out of hazy dreams, he knew that Mattigan was right to want her on their side. She looked so innocent. So young. No one would ever suspect her of anything worse than taking an extra biscuit or two during tea. Certainly not...he opened the folder in his lap and looked at it... the wallets, watches, wedding rings, credit cards and cell phones of at least two dozen prominent Northern Irish citizens, mostly bankers who were extremely visible in religious organizations.

And then, of course, there were the pictures.

He had seen some of them after they had fallen into the right hands.

A few were surprisingly artistic.

Now, luckily for her, she had steered clear of anyone directly involved with the government. Not that things like this never happened to government officials. They did, with disturbing frequency. There were pictures, love children, abortions, male lovers, female lovers...there was a former Minister who really, truly _loved_ animals. So a public figure being involved wouldn't be something novel, it was only that those situations usually ended in backroom deals, arson or bullets, not Mycroft Holmes perched in an uncomfortable chair with a plastic seat attempting to look professional and vaguely sinister for when she woke up.

Even as he thought it, he saw her blink her eyes a few times and then awake to take in her surroundings. The handcuffs pleased her about as much as he had expected and he watched her rattle them angrily and after seeing that there was no escape, finally, her eyes settled on him.

"Hello Violet. I'm Mycroft...no, don't get up. Let's keep this informal."

"What the f-"

"I should warn you ahead of time that I really don't like to be sworn at. Sets my teeth on edge. Makes it hard to speak, and you want to speak to me. Trust me." To prove it, he reached into his pocket and removed the key to the handcuffs. He held it out so that she could see it, even giving it a playful little shake, and then put it back. Yes, he had her attention now. "So let's try it again. Hello Violet. I'm Mycroft."

She huffed. It was visible. Her cheeks puffed out in frustration. It made her look younger still and the troubling thought -

_She really is just a girl. Too young for this. _

-of her youth struck him again but he persisted. "You're in a lot of trouble right now. It's actually very impressive. Do you want to talk about it?"

Instead of speaking, she looked away. Very well. He didn't really need her to talk, he knew how the first part of the conversation would go anyway.

"Clearly you don't, so I will. If you did want to talk, you would say you have no idea what I'm talking about. You'd act frightened and cry. You would want to talk to a doctor, a nurse, anyone else except me until I left, and then, given a few moments of privacy, you would have no difficulty in working your way out of one pair of handcuffs and escaping through the nearest window or laundry trolly or what have you. Then I would have to send someone to catch you. It would be a tremendous waste of time, believe me, I know. So we'll just skip all of that."

He got up, slowly, careful to keep himself out of range of her free hand, and he set the file he had onto the bed before retreating to his chair. "I know, Violet. I know so much about what you've done, not all of it probably, but enough. It's all in there if you want to look for yourself. I wasn't lying when I said it was impressive. You had a good thing going...until someone you tried to blackmail got it into their head to just shoot you instead. You'll have a scar, by the way. But it can all be taken care of. Despite the handcuffs, I'm not here to arrest you. I want to talk to you. As near as I can tell, this all started when you were about 19. Who was your first?"

Still, she didn't speak. Mycroft couldn't establish a dialogue until she spoke. He hadn't needed her for the first part, his display of power and knowledge and his willingness to not have her jailed. But in order for them to move forward, she would have to communicate. He sat, poised, looking interested, waited, but nothing came. He coughed a little bit. Nothing.

Fine.

If she wouldn't speak, neither would he.

He could wait all night.

Really, he could.

Exhaling in a huff of his own, Mycroft got out his phone and started tapping buttons, not really doing anything useful but making it clear that his attention wasn't being given to the woman anymore, and she could just rot for all he cared. This was a trick he had learned from Sherlock. One of his brother's most annoying habits but it worked spectacularly. Within five minutes she started talking to him.

"I met a man, when I was out one night, taking a break from studying. He bought me a few drinks. I smiled at him. He wasn't bad looking. We went back to his hotel. You know, stuff happened. The next week, I got a visitor. A guy in a suit said he would give me $2000 pounds if I would just forget about what happened. So I said sure and later I found out..."

"Ah, so he was your first then."

"And that was a pretty good way to make money. So I put my natural talents to work."

"Sex." Mycroft said bluntly.

"Sex is a talent."

"But there was more to it than that. Your plans, the way you organized things, the fact that you did it by yourself. It's why I wanted to speak with you. It's why I wanted to offer you a job."

"A sex job?"

"A job utilizing your many talents." He corrected, his speech smooth with practice at this part, a part he had been over many times. "I work for the government, no need to say who exactly, let us only say that they're powerful. Occasionally, we need information, or we need to send a message, or we need to make sure a vote goes a certain way, a certain person comes to power..."

"And you're telling me all this? You've read this, right?" She shook the file folder he had handed her, "You know what I do with secrets?"

He chortled. It wasn't a laugh. It was almost a snort. This was not simply acting either, he was genuinely amused. "What are you going to do? Tell on me...really...who would believe you?" He kept chuckling. Why did they always say that?

She glowered at him, trying to think of something clever or sarcastic to say but having nothing immediately come to mind. She finally settled for, "So you want me to spread my legs for queen and country?"

His laughter stopped and became a groan. She did have a one track mind right now. Hopefully he could break her of that. She had potential, he could see it. But it would be a chore. He could also see that sugar coating and politeness was not the best approach to closing the deal. He would need to be straightforward.

"Violet, this meeting ends in one of two ways. Either you can go to jail, or you can come home with me. Think about it. Am I really such a bad choice?"

xxx

She was young, he had been right in that. Very unpolished. But not without a certain charm, good senses, and a good mind. Sex was a talent, she had told him. After a successful recruitment, he was now tasked with showing her that the mind could be a weapon. But it was difficult.

Very difficult.

Extremely difficult.

"Mycroft, this is retarded. Seriously."

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Don't use that word, Violet. You sound uneducated and common."

"Okay, Mycroft, this is **stupid**. I thought this was going to be like James Bond. Where is my invisible car? Where is my cigarette lighter radio? I am also pretty fucking sure that they never asked James Bond to draw a tree, a house and people." She pushed herself back from the table, shoving away from her the markers and paper.

"They probably did, actually, as this type of assessment is used and has been used in psychological testing for government workers for decades. It's not an art project, Violet, it's a useful tool that can tell me a lot about your personality."

"The fact that I think it's idiotic should be telling you something about my personality." she snapped. "Why don't you draw a tree, a house and a person while I spend all day sending text messages."

"I'm not sending text messages."

"Yes you are."

"I am not _only_ sending text messages."

"Yeah, I bet. Tell your girlfriend that you're working because if I have to pay attention, so do you."

"She's not-"

"See! I knew it!"

"She is not my girlfriend, I am sending texts to my assistant to make sure my workload is covered because I did not intend for a few tests to take my entire day, so if you would kindly just sit and finish them we can all move on."

"But it's bo-oo-oring."

"Violet!" he exploded. "You're an adult, not some unruly school child! I am trying to give you an opportunity to do something significant with your life! But if you are just going to whine like some...some spoilt, overprivileged socially dysfunctional _brat_ then I am going to go home and you can just go to hell for all I care because I am done wasting my time. So either sit down and draw the damn picture or get out." He used a pen to point to the door of the office. It was intended to be a calm, cool gesture but he was so damned frustrated it came off more like an angry jab.

She stared at him, her jaw sticking out in defiance.

He stared back, color high on his cheeks, mouth set stiffly in anger.

"Fine." she started in on her picture like a good girl. "This is just...I mean, what can you tell from a picture anyway?"

"Lots of things." he replied, his voice much more reasonable now that hers was as well.

"Yeah but like what?"

"I'm not going to tell you until you finish it. I'm not that stupid."

"Can't blame a girl for trying though, right?"

She finished quietly, and Mycroft tried not to peek while he split his time between watching her and checking his phone. Callie wanted to go see some new play and he was trying to tell her that it wouldn't be good for them to be seen in public together socially but she was having none of it. Women were such frustrating creatures.

"Alright, done. Now dish, what does this tell you?"

He took her drawing in his hands to look at it, making some mental notes. It was more or less like he expected it to be. "Well, for instance, the open doors and windows indicate your strong need to interact with others...and see here, leaves with sharp angles and jagged points tell me that you are an aggressive person. The way you've drawn the lips of the woman show that you are a highly sexual person, that doesn't really count since we knew that, but look, you drew an apple tree. An apple tree tells me you have a need to be nurtured."

"Really? Are you just making this up as you go along?"

"No, this is a valid research tool."

"So, what would you look for as..." she fumbled with the word, "disqualifiers?"

He smiled, it was a slight one, gone in an instance, but a smile all the same. She was curious. That was why this whole thing would work. She wanted to know and she wanted to learn, even if it would take the most annoyingly long time to get her to sit down and listen. But if she wanted to learn, then she could be taught, and if he could teach her, this would be successful. A real feather in his cap.

"Well, there aren't really any disqualifiers...but say that a psychotic was asked to do this same drawing. There would be a unobstructed view of the inside of the house, because most psychotics believe that their innermost thoughts are visible to others. There would also most likely be strange, skewed angles indicating their disorganized thought process, and most commonly, their houses are structurally unsound in some way or showing signs of fire and other damage, about to fall in on itself."

"Okay, well...that's sort of neat." she conceded. "But it's still stupid."

"Fair enough."

"You said you knew all this stuff about me, how I think and I act, then have you really not figured out that I'm not a house-tree-people test person? Give me a road test, Mycroft, let me actually **do** something."

"You aren't ready for it."

"And I'll never be ready so long as I'm doing art projects instead of what I'm actually good at."

"You'd be risking my reputation."

"Just a little something..." Violet got up from her seat and came around until she was behind him. Putting herself in a position of power by standing over him, showing compassion by touching his shoulders. She was very skilled with her body language. "It could be our secret, if you want. Surely there has to be some small assignment, it could be like a test." Her fingers, lightly touching, began to gently rub at his shoulders. "You've been so nice to me, and maybe there's something I can do as a favor to you. It doesn't need to be official or anything, but let me convince you that I'm ready."

Mycroft sat calmly, he examined his nails, he glanced at his watch, taking it in until it got to the point that she was touching his hair, his cheeks, the line of his neck. He tilted his head, letting the light touch of nails sweep under his ear, before he reached up behind him and grabbed her hand, squeezing it until she gave a small cry.

He let her go and she stumbled back a few steps. Without rising, he spoke, liking that he didn't have to look at her right now. "I want to make something clear to you. I know you are in pain right now, and I apologize sincerely for it, but it is vital that you listen to me and remember this. You're not a whore. Don't behave like one. There are better ways to get what you want. If you treat yourself like a cheap object, then that is how others will see you and that is all you will ever be. I'm trying to help you to be something more. Do you understand?"

He waited and then added, "If you are nodding right now, I can't see it."

"Yes." she replied, "Yes, I get it. I understand."

"Good. I think we're all finished for today then. You should go."

Without looking at her or turning around, Mycroft waited and listened until he knew she had left.

xxx

Mycroft Holmes had a beautiful home. He had artifacts and trinkets from across the globe. A fine library. He had two dozen very good umbrellas (and about ten more that were gifts and needed to be burnt). His bank account was healthy. He certainly had job security. His mind was the stuff of titans and masters of the universe. He even had good help, which as everyone knows is very hard to find.

But he didn't have anyone to talk to.

He supposed he could hire someone, but then how much could you trust their advice? It wasn't as if he could never confide in anyone, he had Callie and he had Lindley, they would always listen. However, even with his limited knowledge of women, he knew it would be a very bad idea to ask her about another woman making clumsy, self-motivated passes at him. With Lindley's age he might have a lot of experience and could actually give advice, but frankly the idea of asking Lindley about sex made the back of his throat taste like cough syrup.

There was always Sherlock. A man should be able to speak to his brother about things like this. It was one of the whole purposes of brothers. It was what other people did. But...no. A world of no. A universe of no. Just...no.

No.

So here he was again, in front of a fire, drink in hand, with no one to talk to but himself. He wasn't actually. But he was going over and over it in his mind. Finally, he came to a conclusion: he was the adult in this situation – not only was he much older than his student, but he was in charge of the situation. It was up to him to guide her, to mold her, and above all, to not let himself be manipulated by her.

He was in charge here.

xxx

Two months later and here Mycroft was, quietly reflecting again. Only this time it was not a roaring fire he was staring at, but the soft line of a shoulder peeking out from under the covers.

If Sherlock found out, he would never live it down.

So what happened to him being in charge and needing to direct the situation, take control and all of that? Well, simply put, she was very persuasive. Not only that, but for some reason, in what could be the most complicated interpersonal relationship he had (with someone who was not a blood relative), things were very simple and clear cut. Violet would sleep with him if she wanted to sleep with him, or if she wanted something out of him, true, but she was not going to beg him to meet her parents, or complain when he couldn't tell her about his day. She would never accuse him of not sharing enough. Or expect monogamy. That was a very important point. So really, this arrangement could work.

Except it couldn't.

Because despite the lack of strings she tried to attach to him, he worried about her. He knew that if he were truly a good man, he would tell her to run. Run to a good life with a honest job or run to a life of crime and debauchery, anything but this. Anything but this life which in the end guaranteed only one thing; dying alone. Run Violet, because you deserve more.

He knew that when she woke, he was going to give her an assignment. Just a toy mouse to bat at, but still, an assignment of her very own. After that, she would have a taste for the game and there would be no going back. He wasn't going to tell her to run, because she would be such a good little spy. He needed her on their side, and if it wasn't under Mycroft's direction, it would only be someone else. At least this way he could keep her close and try to keep her safe.

She turned now, the shoulder disappearing in favor of a greater expanse of skin, a long arm, blinking eyes. He was always watching her wake, witnessing the transformation from a sleeping girl to a calculating woman. Now, a smile played on her lips because of her victory. Not only had she gotten her way in sleeping with him, but she knew by looking at him that something important was coming now. Just by the look on his face.

Still smiling broadly, she stretched her arms up over her head and made a very girlish squeaking noise while she worked out all her muscles. It was a feline gesture. She played it for all that it was worth. "Good morning." she murmured.

"It is still technically night outside."

"Oh, well, good night then?" Pulling the sheet with her, she sat up so that they were level, both of their backs against the headboard. "So what happens now?"

"Well obviously," began Mycroft, ready to launch into a lecture, "this cannot happen again."

"No." She shook her head and then she was all kisses and touching. "I mean, you've got something for me. I can tell. What is it? ….am I getting an assignment? A sex scandal, maybe...Oh, or maybe I can be a double agent. Am I going to be a double agent?"

Good god, she was positively giddy.

"Understand me, this has nothing to do with what just happened. I had always planned to give you this because I think you're ready, not because you took your clothes off and wiggled around."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Give it to me."

"I need background information, and I need it quickly. I was behind schedule to begin with and now..."

"OK, background information on who?"

"John H. Watson, medical doctor, war veteran, residing as of late at this address." He passed her some papers off of the nightstand. "All that you can get me in the next twelve hours."

She was still giddy. It was truly a small task, not even an official one, just him wanting more information about this man who was going to look at a flat tomorrow with his brother. But to her it was like he had just booked the night in Cinderella's castle. Dancing around the room to pick up her clothes and slip back into them, she was out the door before he could really say anything else to her. It happened so quickly that when she shut the door behind her, he realized that his mouth was still partially open with the beginnings of an unspoken sentence.

Well, that was different.

Doing a bit of stretching himself, he grabbed his phone to check his messages. He had twelve. Six of them were from Callie, two of those were work related. The rest gave details of her difficult day, arranging a dinner party for him and some cabinet members to take place next month, how the caterer had a wedding booked and how she had convinced the happy couple to go with someone else and so on, and so forth...

She obviously wanted company.

He would need to shower first.

xxx

It was strange, from that point onward, going to see Callie and the inevitable which happened, redressing with her in her well decorated bedroom, redoing his cufflinks while Callie helped him orchestrate the details for their little demonstration later.

"There's no work going on at the warehouse down in central. The one you used last time."

"Good, excellent."

"And there's a power outage on the west block so keeping everyone else busy while you have phone with the phones won't be a problem."

"And you moved the command programs over to my phone?"

"Yes, done. All we need is the information on Walton."

"It's Watson, and the information is coming. I've got my best man on it."

"...really?"

"Yes, really, why?"

"It's just that, you've been busy lately, I know, the thing in Tibet, but I've wondered if you're still interested in me."

"Interested in you?" He looked at the bed. Was that not proof enough?

"I wish things could be different is all. It would be nice to see a matinee or go out to dinner."

"We have dinner all the time." he protested.

"We order in all the time. I mean, a restaurant, with reservations."

"Don't you have...what is his name...no, don't tell me, don't you have Daniel for that?"

"Daniel's a boy. He's fun but..."

"Callie," he sat down on the bed next to her, "I appreciate that you might have certain expectations, but we've been through this. Our relationship works the way that it is. Neither of us is fooling the other one. Is there anything wrong with that?"

She hardened up then. He watched it as it was something visible, like her skin turned to diamond. The Callie that said these types of things to him, his beautiful but complicated Callie, withdrew and left only the assistant, the professional, behind.

He couldn't help but compare the one with the other, these two women. He couldn't help but feel like he was juggling, which he was, but there were no illusions here. He hadn't made promises to anyone. He just wanted things kept casual and simple, it was best for everyone. Anything more than that would only result in people getting hurt. He didn't want to hurt anyone.

He was just a litany of excuses tonight.

So he really did try to stick with his resolve to not sleep with Violet from that point on. It only happened once or twice. She was like...some sort of holiday mascot really, popping into his life every once and awhile to collect work, deliver information and take out frustrations on him in the most physical way possible. It worked for them. As things with Callie, his feelings primarily, became more tangled and intricate, Violet was almost a comfort. The slightly smutty nature of her business emails especially.

She also became one of his best agents, for all the reasons he had thought of before. She was smart. She had little to no moral qualms. She thoughts on her feet and mostly, she just looked so sweet. Spies did not go around in tuxedos and fancy evening gowns but still, there were things to look for and she possessed none of them. She also, for some reason, believed in Mycroft intensely. Like Molly believed in him. But Molly knew so little about him and his world. She would run screaming in horror if she found out half the things he routinely arranged before breakfast. Violet knew all of those things and still thought that he was wise and trustworthy.

Although they never directly discussed it, he knew she trusted him not only to help her in this business of theirs, but also with her life. Every assignment could bring danger, from jail time to death to worse things. She trusted him to never lead her astray.

If he could do one good thing for her, it would be keeping her alive.

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**A/Ns – I know I have a lot of stories in progress right now, including things you guys haven't even seen yet (including most things from the Dearest-verse) but real life has been rough for me lately and I wanted to do something quick just for my own selfish indulgence. I hope you guys liked it too, please drop me a review. -hrlyqin **


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